Her Wildest Fantasy Fulfilled

This is a story about how a woman fulfils her most dramatic sexual dream. The woman is Charley Williams who has featured in two of my previous Literotica efforts. I introduced her in "From Physio to Gigolo," where she played a minor part and then developed A Black Night in New York around her.

She liked hard sex. Raw sex. Dirty sex.

She was a screamer, a moaner, a scratcher and a biter.

She liked pain. Both giving and having. And she liked marks, trophy marks. On her and on her lovers

There'd been numerous times when she'd sat in the boardrooms of major companies or the conference rooms in banks, lawyers or accountants in her prim banker's suit, naked underneath, with big, red suck marks over her breasts, pinch and scratch marks on her body and fierce stripes across her ass from a cane or hand.

She was ambitious and adventurous and wanted new experiences and fresh kicks all the time.

But that's exactly what she didn't have. The time. The time to find partners. The time to get to know them and to build the sort of relationship that led to great sex of the sort she wanted.

But then highly successful career women often don't have the time for many things. And Charlotte Mason was very successful and exceedingly career minded. A girl had to be to have got to a Senior VP position in the M & A department of one of the world's top banks at the age of 33. And she had to be doubly career minded if she was to become the first MD of an M & A department of a major bank. That was Charley's ambition, her aim and her objective in life. Everything else was subservient to that. Even had she believed in it that would have included love. It would also include traditional relationships, flirting, getting to know men and being seduced. All that just took far too long. She could arrange the takeover of a multi billion pound company and earn millions for the bank and thousands for herself in the time it usually takes for a man and a woman to progress from.

"Hi how are you I'm Charley?"

To

"Yes, yes, yes. Fuck me hard right now."

So she cut corners. She dispensed with traditional relationships, did away with typical "boy meets girl" situations and cast aside the conventional ways that young women meet men.

Charley purchased her pleasure. She bought her sex. She paid men to fuck her.

There was no real need but now she preferred to and it did, she readily admitted to herself, added to the kicks, gave her more buzz and greater sexual satisfaction. Had she been more patient, been willing to take her time then she would have been able to pick and choose her partners.

She was bright, as a 2:1 from London implies, was attractive in a slightly hard-looking way, a little like Madonna in Evita a man had rather pleased her by once saying and she had a great toned and very fit body from daily work outs in the gym. Her position at the bank gave her all the trappings of a high-flying banker's life-style. Nearly a million pounds last year in salary and bonuses, an almost limitless expense account, first class travel, limos on demand and a Porsche Carr era , hardly used in the underground car park of her London Docklands £2 million apartment. Some would say she had it all and in many ways she did. But she didn't have the time. And in any case where could a girl who was working six and seven twelve or more hours a day a week meet anyone? Sure there were the businessmen, lawyers and accountants with whom she worked but the maxim of never fuck a client was instilled firmly in her from her ambition to get on. Also did she really want someone on the circuit as it were to know the inner secrets of her sexual desires and practices, she asked herself receiving a resounding no for an answer? And, in reality, she rarely met anyone else. Ok she'd occasionally have a little fling with a colleague who was well outside her inner circle and yes when travelling she might meet a guy on a plane, in a hotel lobby or airport who was on the same sort of heavy travel regime as she and they'd end up screwing each other but they were the exceptions rather than the norm.

Her first male escort was arranged by a female colleague in New York.

"Oh shit C I use 'em all the time. I'll fix it for you," she'd said. True to her word her friend had and that night Charley paid for sex for the first time in her life in the Pierre Hotel.

The first e-mail she saw on her laptop when she opened it up after he'd gone was from her friend. It simply said

"Call Maxine on 212 378 5419 any time. She'll get you the satisfaction I know you'll have had this evening whenever you want it."

She'd started using "male escorts" in London when a friend recommended a young Australian physio who "did extras." Charley visited him at the clinic where he worked and although he satisfied her with his hands he refused to fully service her as she demanded in fear of them being caught.

"But I do visiting massage," he'd told her.

They had a very energetic and vigorous series of fucks that very evening including one on the balcony of her apartment under the stars!

Although she continued using the visiting massage agency that Matt grew from just him to having eight or nine male physios and a number of girls as well she also found other sources where she could indulge her whim for buying sex.

She'd developed a network of agencies over the last few years in New York, London, San Francisco, LA, Frankfurt and even as far flung recently as Mumbai, Sydney and Beijing. So almost wherever she went sex was available if she wanted it. And usually she did.

In the cities she visited more frequently and for longer periods, especially New York and London, the agencies got to know her and her tastes quite well. She only had to say.

"The usual please," to Maxine in New York, Shirley in LA or San Francisco and Matt or Fiona in London, and they'd know the score.

A guy in his twenties with a good body. Muscular yet slim. Any excess weight was strictly taboo. Fairly bright and sophisticated enough to not be out of place at the top hotels. He'd have to be able to cum three or four times in quick succession and be prepared to be bitten and scratched. He had to have the instinct to know how hard to be with her and just how far he could go with sucking, scratching, pinching and sometimes spanking her. He'd need to know where he could leave marks and where he shouldn't, how much to kiss and make love to her and how much too simply just sell her sex.

But sometimes she wouldn't say, "the usual please." No sometimes she decided to experiment or to respond to one of the agency's suggestions.

She'd have a man and a woman for the evening having sex with both at the same time as her interest in bisexuality grew. She'd have two men and occasionally two women so she could experience threesomes. She'd order someone whose job was to spank her and after that someone she could spank. There were times, especially in Germany, where she got into mild BDSM and S & M although she did find much of the dressing up and the rituals faintly ridiculous and that detracted from her excitement and pleasure. In New York and in LA she bought big, black men and revelled in riding on the ends of super-sized cocks realising that size, when used properly, really could make a difference.

"Ms Mason may I advise you of a new service we have just started," the refined voice of Fiona the newish contact at the London agency she'd been using, very successfully, for the past few year or so, had asked when she'd called and ordered a young stud to visit her that evening.

"Yes of course."

"Well it is a very personal service indeed and one that is only being offered to our best customers."

"OK fine," Charley replied a little curtly her attention span being somewhat tested by the plumy voiced woman.

"Well if I could give you a website to visit that you'll need your password to our site with the number 78 on the end, then you can find out all about it. Is that ok?"

"Yes fine, thanks Fiona. So Greg'll meet me at the hotel at nine right?"

"Yes he'll call you on your mobile when he's in the foyer."

"Great bye then and thanks."

Although it was unnecessary from a work angle Charley was staying in one of the suites the bank kept permanently in several London hotels They never knew when a big client might need to use it or when their own top brass or senior operational staff like Charley might have to work late and thus stay over. After a scare from one escort that had visited her apartment and had returned uninvited another time she no longer as she, rather cavalierly had when she first used escorts, entertained them at home.

It was only seven, which was quite an early end to the day for Charley, when she strolled out of her office, along the plush corridors of the Merger and Acquisitions department of the bank, down the lift and out into the autumn air of the City. The buzz, noise, excitement and general mayhem of the traffic and the crowds of big cities never ceased to amaze and stimulate Charley. She strolled towards the Bank where she planned to get the DLR to Canary Wharf from which she could walk to her stunning apartment. A light snack, shower and change of clothes and then she'd get a cab to Mayfair and be at the hotel well in time for Greg's arrival

He was a new arrival on the agency's register and came highly recommended from the female owner who claimed to test out each of her new young bucks. She had personally called Charley having got to know her when the business was smaller and she was the contact of all the clients.

"He really is right up your street Charley I promise you," Maggie had oozed down the phone. "He fucks like a rabbit and cums like a London bus."

"And how's that?" Charley had asked smiling at the enthusiastic slightly cockney tones of Maggie.

"You know, nothing for a while then three in succession."

Charley had some time so she undressed and popped an M & S pasta dinner into the microwave and then showered quite quickly. She dried her short, dark hair that at work was brushed flat into a conservative bob style, not unlike Hilary Clinton's. She applied lots of gell thus enabling her to spike up her hair into a trendier and, she thought, more appropriate style for the evening's events. She was feeling really tarty and sluttish from thinking of what lie ahead for the evening so she hunted through the floor to ceiling wardrobes in her dressing room for an appropriate outfit.

She rarely had time for going shopping so she bought most of her stuff on the Internet and that gave her the opportunity to indulge herself in some purchases that she would probably have never seen in the sorts of shop she'd go to. She had simply masses of underwear ranging from beautiful, dainty French lace numbers to a range of PVC stuff she'd bought on impulse and had never worn. She had practically every fashion of panty and bras, several basques and camisoles, suspender belts, waspies and bustiers that took her already slim 23 inch waist down to miniscule proportions making her hips seem more voluptuous and her 33 B boobs seem huge.

It was she knew full well rather pathetic really. Owning all these sexy, off duty clothes and erotic underwear that she never had time to wear most of the former and used most of the latter to, excite her paid lovers. How ridiculous she though but then rationalised it by saying to herself.

"What the fuck I don't want lovers or husbands just an MD title!"

She slipped on a pair Agent Provocateur boy shorts that were so thin and flimsy that there was hardly anything to them it but at a cost of nigh on fifty quid really was worth more than their weight in gold. She pulled out a pair of fashionably low-waisted trousers the waistband of which just about covered her pubic line at the front and the top of the crease in her bum at the back. Well that was standing up straight. Bending altered all that! They were made of the finest, almost gossamer, thin leather she'd had bought from the Fendi website. They'd been airmailed to her from Florence to try on and send back with marks as to where she wanted the trousers shortened to. A mini tee-shirt made from pure silk that ended a good three inches above the waistband of her trousers showing off her flat tanned tummy completed her outfit. She didn't bother with a bra but packed a pair of jeans and a shirt and sweater in a bag along with a change of panties to come home in, just in case things got a little rough and any of her clothes, as they had several times got torn.

Ready apart from the touch of make up she normally wore and painting her fingers and toes she went into the lounge. Seeing her personal laptop, the one she used for accessing web pages and sending e-mails she wouldn't want the spooks at the bank to see she remembered the chat with snooty Fiona. Booting it up and accessing the agency's site she popped in her username and password she flustered for a moment trying to recall the number she had to add on then popped in 78.

"Fulfil your Fantasies"

Filled the screen.

"No matter how wild, how outrageous and how fantastic we can do that for you."

The blurb went on.

Charley read, quite fascinated, about some of the fantasies the site claimed to have fulfilled for their all female audience.

"Shit," she said to herself realising the time was nearly eight fifteen. Plugging the PC into her G3 mobile that she used only for accessing the Internet and for her "undercover" life, hence giving Greg the number to call, she shoved the lot into her Mulberry holdall, shrugged into her ankle-length leather coat and went downstairs wishing she'd ordered a cab for around that area this time of evening they were like gold dust.

"Bollocks, I'll drive," she thought checking she had the Porsche keys with her.

It was actually quite pleasant cruising through a surprisingly quiet London in the powerful sports car that she had to struggle to resist opening up a bit along The Embankment and she got across town surprisingly quickly she realised as she turned off Park Lane at twenty to nine.

Pulling up right outside the Inn on the Park she was quite sure that the doorman thought she was a hooker as she gave him the keys and said.

"Look after it for the night can you?"

She was even surer he probably thought that when she pressed a twenty pound note in his hand as she clambered out the low car affording him a range of quite amazing views of her body from the front, side and back.

Greg was all that Maggie had promised.

He was in his mid twenties. He was bright, talkative and good fun. He chatted easily, sounded good and looked good as they had a couple of drinks going through the charade of pretending this was a real date as opposed to a business arrangement. That, Charley had learned early on in her buying sex time, was needed by both parties. Maybe down at the bottom end of the hooker racket there was no pretence. There it could well be, pay the money, get, probably not all but some of your kit, off, fuck and leave.

Up at the thousand pounds an evening level it was far from that. It was acted out more like a date. If the woman wanted it there was romance, there was kissing and cuddling and drawn out seduction. The escort took his time to get to know her, to make up to her, undress and then have sex with her.

So they had a couple of drinks. He moved over and sat next to her and he kissed her, eventually. And Charley kissed him back.

"I'll get some more wine," she said getting up and walking over to the bar in the corner of the living room of the suite. The bar was fitted into a corner and alongside the wall next to it there was a floor to ceiling mirror. As Charley bent down and opened the fridge, that she'd asked to be stocked with white wine, she felt more than saw Greg behind her. Thinking that he was probably going to offer to undo the wine she started to turn. But before she could one of his arms hands suddenly snaked round her neck while the other went round her waist his hand pointing downwards so his fingers pressed right on her mound.

"Right bitch," he snarled pulling her backwards so her bum pressed against his crotch. "You've been showing out and asking for it all evening and now you're gonna get it."

As he said that he slid the arm round her neck downwards so his fingers found and squeezed her breast very hard while those on his other hand slipped into the low-slung waistband of her trousers..

"Greg what are you doing?" She asked sharply a little perturbed at losing control of the situation but also somewhat excited by his tone and the way things were going.

"One of the other agency guy's I've used must have said something," she rationalised to herself, not giving any consideration at all to the possibility that he was serious. "Don't ask stupid fucking question," he said firmly pulling the front of her top up so that he could pull both of her breasts out..

Charley was squirming and struggling and turning herself from side to side. Greg though had held her tight as he'd pulled and squeezed her breasts and pushed his hand down the front of her trousers and inside her panties. The way he'd held her had stopped her looking in the mirror or turning round and looking at him. But as her struggles increased so she nearly broke free. Half turning just before he regained control over her she saw him in the mirror. His shirt was undone and he'd removed his trousers so was just wearing a pair of tight, white boxers and the open shirt. Despite the slightly scary feelings and the pain of him pinching her breasts she couldn't help registering how good he looked. His body was tanned and toned and was set off perfectly by the tight boxers.

"Hmmm, clever sod," she thought realising that it takes two hands to hold a struggling woman down. "And that doesn't leave many to get your trousers off," she continued thinking, suddenly wondering how rapists manage. "Probably don't bother," she found herself smiling.

Greg's gaze caught hers in the mirror and it was as if her seeing him made him mad.

"Stop staring bitch," he snarled, his hand on the back of her neck slamming her chest and face down onto the counter of the bar. Pressing hard on her neck he held her there with one hand as the other grabbed the waistband of her trousers that, due to her movements and position, had slipped down affording him a great view of her the crease in her bum. As he'd pushed her forward so her head had caught on the side of the bar and when he pressed her down her breasts were tightly squashed against the wood of the bar.

Both actions hurt her and she wondered again whether this was for real.

Maybe he's some form of psychopath that's somehow slipped through the close screening she knew the agency applied she wondered? Maybe this isn't playacting, maybe this isn't him going for the "hard sex" that she'd ticked on the recent questionnaire the agency had requested their clients to complete, "so we can cater for your needs," as they put it? Maybe this isn't pretend, maybe this really is rape, her shocked and puzzled, yet nevertheless sexually stimulated, mind mulled over as she felt his hand ripping the back of her tee shirt?

"God he is big and so hard and ready," she thought as she felt him thrust that against her at the same time as which his hand slid into the waist of her trousers at the back.

"Well slut, do you like the feel of that?"

She didn't think a reply was necessary until he yanked hard on her gelled, spiky hair and snarled.

"Well do you? Do you like the feel of my cock on your arse? Answer me you dirty cow."

"Yes, yes I do," she whimpered realising as she said it that it was the truth.

"And where do you want it?"

"Anywhere," Charley stammered as she felt her trousers being pulled down.

"Anywhere? You mean anywhere at all?" he asked shoving his bulge right against the crease of her bum that the yanking of her trousers had uncovered.